


Eros

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Feels, Love Confessions, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Crowley (Good Omens), Omega Verse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scenting, alpha aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Aziraphale has always taken care of Crowley's heats.





	Eros

One part of the Arrangement rarely discussed was the matter of Crowley’s heats. Damn inconvenient, since non-celestials didn’t have to deal with these things and he didn’t particularly want to be bedded by anyone in Hell. Most of the time he covered up his second gender, and fortunately, they didn’t come very often, but then had come that one afternoon in Babylon when Aziraphale had noticed his discomfort.

Aziraphale tending his heat had seemed as natural as breathing.

It wasn’t something they ever discussed. What was the point, after all? But once every century or so Crowley would come to Aziraphale, or Aziraphale would appear right when he was needed, and then they’d go their separate ways again.

Crowley would never admit to dreaming about Aziraphale, never admit the thoughts that came to him sometimes in the night. Why would an angel ever want _that_ with a demon?

The last few days had been stressful, to say the least. But the apocalypse had been averted, neither one of them had been destroyed and they’d enjoyed a lovely dinner at the Ritz followed by a bit too much alcohol at Crowley’s (‘Take me to yours,’ Aziraphale had said. Crowley wondered if he knew how much those words had lit him up inside).

Now Crowley was sobering up in his bed, Aziraphale curled up in his arms like an overlarge cat, impossible to move.

“Aziraphale,” murmured Crowley, trying to get an arm free.

Blinking, Aziraphale sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Is it morning?”

“Yeah, think so,” said Crowley, squinting at his window.

Aziraphale settled against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around Crowley, holding him closer. Crowley shivered as Aziraphale breathed him in. Scenting him, perhaps? Or was he just imagining things? 

Crowley closed his eyes. He could smell the alpha part of Aziraphale, something the angel kept as carefully hidden as he did his omega. Something stirred, a telltale sign if Crowley ever knew one. “Ugh,” he grumbled.

“You’re going into heat,” said Aziraphale, and this time he definitely scented him. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Always,” said Crowley flippantly, though he meant it with all his heart.

Raising his head, Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s cheek, drawing him into a kiss. Crowley melted like ice cream on a summer day, his heat flaring up at the gentle touch. 

In an instant they were both naked, Aziraphale smiling against his lips, hand smoothing down his chest. Crowley moaned, something primal, _needy_.

“I know,” murmured Aziraphale, running fingers through Crowley’s hair.

And he did know. He always seemed to know exactly what Crowley needed, sometimes even before Crowley himself. It should have burned to have that holy grace trace patterns in his skin, words from languages mankind had long since forgotten or had never known.

But it felt like coming home.

Crowley spread his legs. Aziraphale shifted to settle between his thighs, sipping kisses from his lips, making sure he was ready. Always gentle, always so much more than he deserved. 

Aziraphale lined up and carefully pushed into Crowley. He thrust slowly, giving him time to adjust. 

Crowley moaned, a long “Yessss,” that melted into a hiss of pleasure as he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale. He wanted to whisper prayers into his skin, wanted to surrender and give himself over until all that was hateful and _wrong_ about him was burned away.

Aziraphale raised his head and smiled. Crowley groaned, heart aching. Then Aziraphale spoke. Three words Crowley hadn’t heard since he’d been cast out of heaven. Three words he never imagined would fall from those lips: “I love you.”

Crowley froze, staring. Aziraphale’s face crinkled up in the way it did when he realized he’d said something wrong and he was trying to fix it. No, no, not wrong, not these words, not if he meant them. 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley touched his cheek. Tears stung Crowley’s eyes. He could blame it on the emotions of his heat, but for once in his long life he wanted to be honest. “I love you, too,” he said, barely above a whisper, as if the words were too fragile for air.

Relief broke out on Aziraphale’s face. He smiled again and kissed Crowley, resuming his movements. “I am yours,” he said.

Crowley tangled his fingers in Aziraphale’s dandelion-soft hair. Aziraphale kissed away his tears, moving a little faster. _You are loved. You are worthy as you are._

Aziraphale’s breath came shorter as his knot swelled. He gave one more thrust and then came with a moan. Crowley followed right after, a supernova exploding behind his eyes.

When Crowley became aware of himself again he was lying on Aziraphale’s chest, still knotted together. The angel was tracing words into his skin again. Crowley shivered as he recognized the poem.

“I love you,” said Aziraphale again without stopping his finger.

Crowley sighed. “I think I’ve loved you since Eden,” he murmured.

“I know,” said Aziraphale. He kissed the top of his head. “I didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to admit it, but, well, with all that’s happened…”

“So what happensss now?” asked Crowley, the hiss in his voice more pronounced with his relaxation.

“I don’t know,” admitted Aziraphale. “But we’re bonded.”

“Have been,” said Crowley. He frowned. “You didn’t know?”

“I’ve been foolish about many things, Crowley. So have you.” Aziraphale finished his poem and tiled Crowley’s head up to kiss him. “But no more.”

“Yes. No more.”

Aziraphale held him gently. Crowley settled back on his chest and closed his eyes. The words of the poem echoed in his mind. _To love and be beloved; Men and Gods have not outlearned it_. Apparently, neither had angels or demons. He smiled, content, basking in the warm glow of Aziraphale’s love.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to meansgirlwrites for reading along and Beltainefaerie for the beta and both of them for helping me figure out the freaking title.
> 
> You can find me on twitter and tumblr at merindab
> 
> [Eros, by Ralph Waldo Emerson](https://poets.org/poem/eros)


End file.
